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I walked into the familiar sound of excited, frightened yips and barks. The wired cages and concrete floors did nothing to warm the room. The damp smell of disinfectant lingered in the air. I wandered around, reading the information cards; one simply read, Surrendered: Owner in Hospice Care.

With a sigh, I looked at the graying face peering up at me, tail softly beating the floor. As I met her warm, trusting eyes, I could not help but feel her sadness.

“I have never had a dog before,” I whispered. “You will have to teach me as we go along, okay?”

He always admired her skill with words, so it was no surprise that the note was economical, precise, and concise. It said: ‘I know that you love me but I no longer love you, so I’ve gone.’

She meant: I no longer love seeing you in the morning when I first wake up; holding your hand over breakfast coffee; hearing the door handle turn when you come home; sharing my meals, my tears and laughter, my past, my present, and my future with you. I no longer love any of these so I’ve gone and, in return, I give you—nothing.

In goes the shovel; down kicks the foot. Shovel into dirt. Throw into wheelbarrow. Muscle and dirt and steel. Repeat repeat repeat. Sun beats down. Empty out wheelbarrow. Over and over, twelve hours a day. Seven finally comes. Quitting time. Cold beer waiting. Not that far. Short walk home. Sun won’t relent. Feeling good, job well done. Climb three floors, so so thirsty. Stumble inside, drop hard hat and gloves. Walk to the fridge. Beers all gone. One half can left. Need it bad. Grab it. Down it. Inside is a cigarette butt which gets swallowed. Time for a new roommate.

Angry waves smacked against the pier like shattered shards staggering away from a broken champagne glass. Jacob desperately hoped wandering eyes would meet his on his final descent to the end of the pier. Defeat took over months ago when his girlfriend left and his dad followed suit. He tried to dig in his heels. The world kept spinning without him.

“The night sky sure is a beauty.”

An old man emerged from the shadows and clapped Jacob on the back. Jacob looked up to admire the sky, and turned back with an answered prayer to see he was standing alone.

The waters surged and boiled, wave upon wave rising at my bidding. Now master of all, with the slightest twitch of my hands—the merest suggestion of my mighty will—the little world shook. I watched the insignificant denizens of this globe spin and tumble helplessly in its currents as the rocks and sand of the sea bed swirled. The world was mine, the fire was flooding through my veins when, suddenly, the awesome focus of my power was shattered by the fateful cry:

“Alan! Put the bloody fish bowl down and come and have your tea before you break something.”